


The Past is Prologue

by bloodyromantic



Series: The Heart of a Knave [4]
Category: Alice in Wonderland (2010)
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodyromantic/pseuds/bloodyromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreaded Meeting of the Parents. But there may be greater dangers lying in wait, and dangerous means to combat them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Small Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a chapter in "Rose and Thorn," but quickly grew into its own story. Then two (!) of my characters went rogue on me, resulting in the darker tone starting in Chapter 5. And yes, there is a bit of smut, hence the M rating. I've rather enjoyed going down this particular rabbit hole, and I hope you enjoy it too.
> 
> Lewis Carroll and Tim Burton own many of these characters; Casiphia, her parents, Oran, and Rosalba are my own. ~br

  
_Children wish fathers looked but with their eyes; fathers that children with their judgment looked; and either may be wrong.  
~William Shakespeare_   


"I clearly recall you saying you wanted to meet my father," Casiphia said to Ilosovic as she handed a couple of gowns to the lady's maid who was helping her pack. "It's better to meet them than to wait for them to come to us—otherwise it might seem like I'm trying to keep you a secret.

"And it certainly seems like a good enough time for it, so you can get some time away before having to deal further with Iracebeth."

"True enough," he had to agree. "But a carriage? We can't ride?"

"It's just a gig, it hardly qualifies as a carriage, and I'm certainly not asking Quill to carry a steamer trunk. And yes, I do need a steamer trunk," she said, looking at the bag Stayne was planning to take with him.

"I know soldiers learn to travel light, but I couldn't get one gown into that bag," Casiphia said. "And yes, I preemptively mocking you before you poke fun at me. Dear, no one is going to make you wash your shirt in the brook every night. Go find a larger bag and put some more clothes in it."

Stayne sighed overdramatically and did as she requested. "Are we ready?"

"I believe so," Casiphia said, looking around her room a final time. "I'm certain I'm forgetting something, I always do, but I can't think of it what it might be. If you'll ring for someone to come for the luggage—we'll be on our way."

It wasn't a lengthy trip, although the necessity of taking the gig on a paved road did make it a longer journey it would have been had they ridden. A pretty little white mare by the name of Snowbell pulled the gig, with Casiphia at the reins because, as she pointed out, she was the one who knew where they were going.

They passed through the mushroom forest soon after traversing some of Marmoreal's woodlands, Stayne having one or two ill-tempered exchanges with some of the more irascible talking flowers along the path.

The house wasn't visible till they were almost upon it, when it appeared suddenly in a grove of trees, covered in flowering vines. Not palatial, it was nonetheless a good size for a cottage, and was clearly a place lived in by people who cared about it and enjoyed tending it and the gardens around it.

"I've not actually been to this house before," Casiphia said. "They retired only a few years ago, and I've seen them during their regular visits to the castle. So this is new to me as well."

As their carriage pulled up to the house, a man with a mane of white hair and a long white walrus moustache, dressed in an old blue riding coat, came out to meet it.

"Now I've seen everything," he called out to them. "The prodigal daughter, a man of sinister repute, and a horse who isn't Quill."

"As if Quill would deign to pull a carriage," Casiphia called down. She whispered to Ilosovic, "Ah, you've been acknowledged. That may in fact count as a compliment."

Casiphia pulled the carriage to a stop and slid down to the ground. "Hello, Papa," she said, giving the man a hug. She took Ilosovic's hand as he joined her, and said, "I trust you are familiar with the name of Ilosovic Stayne."

Ilosovic made a small but polite bow, only a little awkwardly, and Casiphia's father did the same. "I'm Harald Rhoswen," he said. "Come inside and meet my wife."

"Good thus far," Casiphia whispered, taking Stayne's arm and leading him under an arch of wisteria blooms and inside the cottage.


	2. Relative Comfort

_Everyone ought to bear patiently the results of his own conduct.  
~William Shakespeare_

The cozy parlor was not overly bright, as vines and leaves covered most of the window panes, but it contained friendly amounts of cushions and small tables and chairs. Several windows had been propped open to let in the fresh summer air (and a vine or two), and the fireplace was filled with fresh lilacs and lit candles.

Anne Rhoswen was not quite as tall as her daughter or her husband, but she was still of a height that put Stayne at ease—it was, in fact, the least conspicuous he had felt in a room in many years. Otherwise she looked very much like Casiphia, with the same brown hair and gray eyes, although hers were bracketed by lines that indicated there had been much laughter as well as struggle in her life.

After her official introduction to Ilosovic Stayne, she bade everyone be seated and brought out tea and treats. This initial meeting was bound to be stilted, and she wasn't sure yet that she entirely approved, but she would make them all as comfortable as possible while they got to know each other.

While Casiphia's parents were in the kitchen gathering tea implements, Ilosovic pulled Casiphia aside and whispered, "So your parents are named Harald and...Anne?"

"Yes. Why?" Casiphia was perplexed.

"How do Harald and Anne have a child named Casiphia?"

"Ahh. I was born during the years at court when it was the fashion to give the children names that meant 'white.' If you translate both my names, I'm 'silvery-white' 'white rose.' 'Rosalba' means 'white rose'; 'Oran' means 'white.' See, not everything is worth closer examination."

They fell silent and took a seat together on the ottoman as the Rhoswens passed around teacups and saucers and biscuits,

"So with what do you occupy yourself with these days?" Harald asked Stayne.

"Not so much, really," he replied, as Casiphia jumped in quickly with, "Consider it an extended vacation. He deserves it after ten years at the Red Castle."

"True enough," Ilosovic said. "I wouldn't refer to anything involving Iracebeth as a vacation, no matter what one might be doing with that time."

"We should work on this, shouldn't we?" Casiphia whispered to him. "Your skills are going to waste while you're idle. I'm sure you don't want that to be the case forever."

"I could, hmm, teach sword-fighting?" Stayne mused. "Wherever Queen Mirana feels like employing me, that's where I shall be, but I hope it will be something I can enjoy and excel at."

"Mirana's good at matching people with employment," Anne said. "I don't think you need worry."

After tea was a tour of the house and gardens, which turned out to be extensive. "You see how responsive the plants are to Anne's talking to them," Harald said, beating back an especially tall and bushy ornamental shrub.

And then there was a light dinner and more tea and some excellent wine from a bottle Casiphia had tucked into her trunk.

Afterwards Casiphia helped Anne with the dinner dishes while the men remained at the table and Harald expounded upon his days with the White Guard.

"Your father seems quite taken with your friend," Anne said. "I take that as a good sign. But dearheart, do you ever worry about his—well—his loyalties?"

"No, Mum, I don't," Casiphia said. "Maybe I should, but I don't feel any instincts telling me otherwise. There have been mornings when I've woken up aghast at what I've done, but as soon as we see each other, the doubts fly away."

"I don't suppose Mirana would allow him in her castle if she had any fears," Anne said. "Or maybe it's just that she trusts you very much."

"It is a little frightening to be responsible for someone whom so many people have reason to distrust," Casiphia admitted. "But I truly do believe he has a sense of honor. I don't believe the things he did for Iracebeth were of his own volition. He was in her service and took that very seriously."

"And now I hear she's back," Anne said.

"And I gather the castle gossips have outposts," Casiphia said wryly. "But yes, she is, and that's one reason we thought now was a good time for this visit. That, and I told enough stories about Papa that Ilosovic wanted to meet him for himself."

"He didn't say anything to me, but I think the curiosity about Ilosovic has been eating your father alive," Anne said. "It's kind of you to take pity on the poor man."


	3. The Better Part of Valor

_Go to your bosom: Knock there, and ask your heart what it doth know.  
~William Shakespeare_

Despite a day that had gone by all accounts surprising well, it seemed a unanimous decision that all turn in early that night, so all would have a chance to absorb and consider the events of the day.

Anne showed Casiphia and Ilosovic down the hall to a pair of adjoining rooms, and left them to settle in with their belongings.

“Ah, clever,” Casiphia said. “Look, here's a door between the rooms, so they don't need to know the particulars of our, er, relationship.”

“Which side is the lock on?” Ilosovic asked.

“It's on...what—it's on your side!”

“Ha, they're trying to keep me safe from you,” Ilosovic grinned.

“A nice way to show trust in their daughter. Hmph,” she said. “Oh, wait, what's on the other side of your room?”

“Another bedroom,” he said from out in the hall. “Ah. I see...”

“Ha ha,” she said. “They're making sure you have to come visit me and not the other way around, because there are details they do not want to know.”

“So, do you want me to come visit you?” Ilosovic asked, stealing up behind Casiphia and breathing on her neck.

“You do ask the most ridiculous questions,” she said, turning around to receive the kiss he bestowed upon her lips.

With that he picked her up and carried her to her bed, and went to make sure all pertinent locks were locked.

“It's a narrower bed than we're used to, you'll have to come close,” Casiphia said softly.

“I can do that,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling off his shirt. Casiphia put her arms around him with her hands on his chest and her cheek against his bare back, where she began kissing up and down his spine.

“Damn, milady,” was Ilosovic's response. “Come here.” He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her ardently. 

It seemed now that there were far too many clothes in the way, and that it took entirely too much time to take care of that problem. But eventually all clothing was discarded on the floor, and the lovers were in each other's arms, skin on skin, side by side.

Casiphia swung a leg over Ilosovic's legs to grant him fuller access and to pull him closer to her. She caught her breath as he entered her, which caused him to thrust all the harder, and they continued to kiss fervently as they took the act to its rightful conclusion. 

And all the while it was in their minds that they needed to keep their voices low and their movements quiet—a restriction that seemed only to intensify their passion.

For that same reason they seemed to find everything funny afterwards, and the need to keep their laughter hushed made them laugh all the harder. Finally Stayne grew serious and said to Casiphia, “I'm looking forward to taking you somewhere where we can have all the time and privacy we desire and I can truly show you how much I love you.”

“Is this a promise?” she asked.

“It's a promise.” 

She kissed both sides of his face, the scarred and the unmarked, then snuggled into the curve of his arms and soon fell asleep.


	4. Epiphanies

_It is a wise father that knows his own child.  
~William Shakespeare_

The next morning Casiphia took advantage of the chance to sleep late, and woke to an empty bed and silence all around her. She dressed in a simple gown of white and lavender sprigged muslin, pinned her hair up in a quick knot, and went to look for signs of human life.

She glanced into the kitchen as she passed down the hallway, immediately checking her progress and returning to the doorway.

“Now I've seen everything,” she remarked at the sight of Ilosovic Stayne with his sleeves rolled up, chopping carrots at the wooden table in the center of the room while her mother peeled potatoes at the sink. “Although I suppose that does qualify as knifemanship.”

Ilosovic stabbed a carrot slice and brandished it at her. “I wasn't raised by badgers, you know.”

Casiphia's mother turned to face them. “My daughter has never been much inclined towards domesticity. Do try not to confuse her.”

Casiphia carefully removed the carrot slice from Stayne's knife. “I should think being well-read and good with plants and horses would be good enough for anyone,” she said, popping the carrot into her mouth.

“Luckily for you, Mirana agrees,” Anne said. “This child of mine can burn water,” she said as an aside to Stayne. “I used to have a saucepan with a hole in the bottom to prove it.”

Ilosovic suddenly grabbed Casiphia around the waist, resulting in a surprised shriek from her, and said, “What kind of daughter have you raised here, anyway? She's never been a bit afraid of me.”

“You must have made a good first impression,” Anne said, and looked nonplussed when the other two burst out in embarrassed laughter. “Maybe I won't ask the pertinent details,” she said.

As she had missed formal breakfast by quite a bit, Casiphia took a cup of tea and a scone out to the garden, leaving the domestic chores to those less averse to them. There she found her father, on his knees digging in a bed and preparing to plant some vegetable seedlings.

“So what do you hear from that Oran Cottonbaum personage? Is he still around?” he said.

“Still part of the court, still glaring at me at public events and not speaking when we cross paths. Nothing has changed in that regard.” Casiphia sat on the ground next to her father, arranging her skirts as she balanced her tea cup.

“Eh, no great loss,” Harald said.

“You were in favor of the marriage,” Casiphia reminded him.

“You made a good case against it,” her father said.

“So you're not utterly scandalized by my current escort?”

“You're choosy enough, I figure if he meets both your standards and Mirana's that ought to be good enough for me. Besides, we all made it through the broken engagement scandal, I'm sure we would survive another.”

He wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. “Besides, Ilosovic Stayne is a good bit more interesting to look at than that pale, dull thing. Appropriately named, wasn't he?”

“Papa! The things you're saying about Oran.”

“Just wait till you live somewhere with more color. You'll see I'm right.”

Bemused, Casiphia put aside all thoughts of her future that didn't include living in the White Castle, and returned to her tea. Afterwards she lay back on the grass and watched the leaves ripple above her, dappling her face with shadows and light, breathing in the fragrance of greenery and fresh-turned earth. For a few moments, at least, she could relax in the luxury of not needing to do anything or be anywhere, gathering all the pieces of herself to the center.


	5. Enigmas

_'Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.  
~William Shakespeare_

The stew that Anne and Ilosovic had concocted was ready by mid-day, and Harald sang it to the table with “Soo - oop of the e - e – evening, beautiful, beautiful Soup!” despite it being pointed out to him that it was not yet evening.

“That always reminds me of Great-Uncle Wilhelm,” Casiphia said wistfully. “He learned that song from the Mock Turtle and used to sing it to us. Ilosovic, did you ever meet the White Knight?”

“I never did,” he said. “But I heard a great deal about him.”

“He was Papa's uncle, and such a dear man, and so kind to all of us children at the castle. He did live to be very old.”

“But never did quite get the knack of staying on a horse,” Harald put in. “Good thing that didn't turn out to be an inheritable trait.”

When Harald disappeared after dessert (a lovely trifle), Anne said to Casiphia, “He's very much looking forward to doing his parlor trick.”

Stayne looked askance, and the women laughed. “If it's the one I'm thinking of, you'll appreciate it very much,” Casiphia told him. 

Soon Harald returned with a glass jar with what looked like a bit of salt at the bottom, a small vial, and a white rose. 

Dropping a bit of liquid from the vial into the jar, he inserted the rose, petals downward—and then as he withdrew it, they watched as it turned red.*

“Aniline salts,” he said, bowing to the applause that greeted his performance. “That little trick used to be very popular at the castle, the main castle you know, before Horunvendush Day.”

“In other words, Iracebeth didn't need to paint her roses at all,” Casiphia said. “Had she only realized.”

“Do you know, I think I heard people tell of that seeing that bit of legerdemain,” Ilosovic said. “And now I finally get to see it for myself.”

“And of course it now has a bit more symbolism than it did,” Anne said with a quiet smile, placing a hand over one of Casiphia's, who returned the smile, feeing ever-so-slightly conspicuous.

 

* * * * *

 

“Are you certain you can't stay longer?” Anne asked.

“I know this has been a short visit, and I hope to remedy that before too long, but I feel that we need to get back to the castle,” Casiphia said to her parents. “It was lovely to get away for a bit, and I'm glad I could introduce you and Ilosovic, but we've got the Summer Fête happening soon, and the Iracebeth situation, and general castle politics to contend with, still.”

“Understandable,” Anne said. “Of course I'm disappointed, but I remember well the responsibilities of court.”

Stayne was arranging luggage in the gig when Harald called Casiphia to join him in his and Anne's bedroom.

“Your mother and I have been talking, and there is something we want to give you before you leave,” he said, pulling what looked like a small valise out of a wardrobe and setting it on a decorative table.

Casiphia unsnapped the catches and opened the lid, then looked up, startled.

“A gun?”

“A derringer, specifically,” Harald said. “We are worried enough about your safety that we think you should have it.”

“Are you worried about Ilosovic?” Casiphia said, feeling insulted. “He is not going to hurt me. I have absolute faith that this is so.”

“Regardless, the man has enemies. And Iracebeth may still have some dangerous followers, and there will always be highwaymen—it seems the two of you are going to be spending time in possibly dangerous situations. Take the gun.”

“Mum is all right with this? And how will Mirana react?”

“It was your mother's when we were at court,” Harald said. 

Casiphia was speechless for a moment. “I didn't know anyone at the White Castle had ever been in possession of such a thing. Did Mum ever use it?”

“That's a story for another day,” Harald said, which Casiphia could interpret as meaning, “There's uncomfortable history here that we don't want you to know of yet.”

Changing the subject, he asked her, “How much of your target shooting do you remember?”

“Most of it, I guess,” she said, taking the gun from the satin-lined case and testing its weight in her hand. “It hasn't been that long. But it was only for sport, you do know that.”

“The basics are the same,” Harald said, “whether you're hitting a target or a robber.” He demonstrated how to cock the hammer and pull the trigger, showed her where in the box additional bullets were concealed, and handed it back to her. She ran through the procedures herself, then put it back in its case with a barely visible shudder.

“I will take it, then, but I can't promise ever to use it,” she said.

“As long as you're prepared to, that's all I ask,” Harald said.

Feeling more confused by her parents than ever, Casiphia took the case out to the gig and stowed it by the seat.. 

“What's that?” Ilosovic asked.

“It's a gun. I'll explain later,” she said quietly. “Although I have more questions than answers, to be honest.”

Then it was time for hugs and handshakes, and biddings fairfarren, and away went the gig into the trees, heading back to Marmoreal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rose trick is real, although ridiculously difficult to find information about, so my telling may not be completely accurate. For another version—and an excellent story overall—see Alice Hoffman's The River King.


	6. Overcome

_It will have blood, they say; blood will have blood.  
~William Shakespeare_

Once Stayne and Casiphia were well away from the house, she pulled out the case to show him the gun.

“It's a pretty piece, and reasonably accurate,” he said, examining the mother-of-pearl grips and chased silver barrel. “From Overland, obviously, which is also interesting. The question is, who are you supposed to shoot with it? Not me, I hope.”

“I hope not too,” Casiphia said. “I really do not know what brought this on, or what my mother was doing with a gun anyway.”

“It was your mother's?” Ilosovic said with a raised eyebrow. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

“It is that,” Casiphia said. “I'm still quite flabbergasted at the whole situation. Here, would you like to take the reins so I can think things over and, oh, perhaps take a nap?”

“Of course,” he said, doing so as Casiphia tucked her head into his shoulder and proceeded to doze off in the warm sun, the scent of greenery and the sound of leaves and birds sending her into slumber.

Which made it all the more nasty a shock when she was startled awake by shouts and crashing in the undergrowth of the grove they were travelling through. 

Five masked attackers—four men and a woman—were charging toward the gig, wielding knives and daggers. “Ilosovic Stayne, prepare to answer for your crimes!” shouted one of the men, as another grabbed the reins of the horse from him and forced the gig to a stop.

In an instant Stayne was down from the gig and drawing his sword with a fearsome grimace, holding off the four adversaries who were upon him with some difficulty. He ran one of them through immediately, but the two additional men and the woman presented a continued challenge. Brilliant a swordsman as Stayne was, he was still outnumbered and it was all he could do to keep the attackers at bay. 

Casiphia wondered later if she had screamed, given the effort it took draw air into her lungs. Shouts and the clash of steel rang in her ears as she grappled to make sense of what was happening. And then seeing one of the men Ilosovic was fighting get close enough in to slash at her beloved's arm, she realized she had no choice.

Somehow she managed to open the clasp on the case holding the derringer and brought the little gun to her chest. Holding it tightly with both shaking hands, she cocked the hammer, aimed as directly as she could for the chest of the man who had injured Stayne, and fired.

The force knocked her back onto the seat of the gig, but with less violence than the force rocking the man she had just shot, who dropped to the ground as blood began to seep from his wound.

The man holding the horse's reins now reached for her, and as she felt his hand upon her arm, Casiphia pushed the gun into his chest and fired the second bullet, stopping his approach instantly. He fell backwards insensible, while she leaned over the side of the gig and retched into the grass.

Stayne was able to take on two assailants, and dispatched them with haste. He finished off the last of the adversaries with a thrust of his sword, which he cleaned against his trousers and resheathed, then wiping sweat from his forehand with a hand that left a bloody trail against his skin.

Casiphia was cradling her hand, but she seemed to have suffered no real physical injury. However her lips were bluish and she was staring into space numbly, and she started uncontrollably when Ilosovic put his hand on her shoulder. 

“Cold,” she managed to say.

Ilosovic acted quickly. He unlaced her dress in the back and wrapped the carriage blanket about her shoulders. With one arm he pulled her close, and with the other he grabbed the reins and set off for the White Castle with as much haste as he dared.

It was dark when they rode up to the drawbridge and Stayne called for admittance, the waterfalls loud in the quiet evening, only a few stars visible through clouds and a moon that looked like a very thin, unemphatic Cheshire smile. As soon as the drawbridge lowered, Stayne had the gig across it and was shouting for help. 

“She's in shock,” he told the servants who came to assist him. “We were ambushed on the road. Get her to her chambers, and please, call for the Queen immediately.”

He saw to it that the horse and gig were taken care of, then took the stairs three a time to Casiphia's rooms. The servants had persuaded her to lie down on her bed, although she was still fully clothed and wearing her boots, and he dismissed them and went to care for her himself.

“Oh, my darling, my love,” he kept murmuring to her as he undressed her and found the warmest, softest nightgown he could among her nightthings. No sooner was she under the covers than there was a loud rapping at the door, and he opened it to find Mirana waiting.

The Queen swept to Casiphia's bedside, where Ilosovic promptly moved a wingchair for her to sit down in.

“Drink this,” Mirana ordered, proferring a small vial with a golden liquid to her lady in waiting. Casiphia obediently sat up to take the draught and drained it with only a slight grimace, then let go of the vial, which fell to the bedclothes and then to the floor. She watched it fall and stared after it, unmoving.

“She'll feel better soon,” Mirana said, gently helping Casiphia to lie down again. “Now it's time to tell me what happened. You were attacked?”

“I have enemies,” Stayne said grimly. “They knew we were on the road and waylaid us just outside Marmoreal. Casiphia had her mother's gun and shot two of them.”

“Oh, my sweet heavens,” said the queen, blanching. “Are they dead?”

“I don't know, I suspect so. I got us away from there as quickly as I could. I fear the shock of doing violence has upset her as much as the assault itself, and for that I know I hold all the blame.”

The queen gestured helplessly. “You may have enemies for good reasons, but they made the choice to fall upon you and your lady. She may be angry with you, as may I, but you did what you could to care for Casiphia afterwards, and from what I've seen, you will continue to do so. 

“And you may be the only person in this castle who can speak to what Casiphia has experienced today. She will need your help to make sense of this.”

With that she exited the room, gesturing to Stayne to take his place in the chair she had vacated, which he did at once. Servants brought up hot soup and tea, which he fed Casiphia carefully as she sat up silently.

He remained there for some time, holding her hand and stroking her hair while she dozed. Then he rose to extinguish most of the lights in the room, leaving only a couple of lamps dimly lit, and bent to kiss her goodnight. 

This wakened her, and as soon as she realized he was about to leave her, she reached for his hand and whispered, “Stay.” Upon realizing that she meant it, Ilosovic stripped to his trousers and slipped into the bed beside her, leaving his eyepatch on her bedside table and his boots at the foot of the bed. 

Casiphia turned to nestle her face into his shoulder and was quickly asleep again. Ilosovic was awake for some time, tormenting himself with blame and fear of consequences, but soon Casiphia's soft breathing lulled him to sleep as well.


	7. Aftermath

_I shall the effect of this good lesson keep as watchman to my heart.  
~William Shakespeare_

When Ilosovic awoke the next day, he found himself alone in the bed. Casiphia was standing by a window staring out of it silently, and it was with hesitance that he spoke to her.

“My love?” 

She turned and smiled at him weakly. 

“How do you feel?”

“Strange. Angry and worried and shaken. Queasy, still. And so sorry I worried you and the Queen last night.”

“Sweetness,” he almost laughed. “We were the ones worried about you. I was especially worried about you, since it is my fault you were in that situation to begin with. I am so very, deeply sorry I put you in a position where you were driven to violence. And I'm sorry you had to see bloodshed on my account.”

“I went into all this with open eyes,” she said. “I did. And my father gave me the gun, with more justification than I realized at the time. It seems he was right after all. And to think it was my mother's gun...this has all been a lot to take in at one time.

“The Queen was the one who took vows never to harm any living thing, not the rest of us here, but we all tend to live by that principle. Even though we all trained in weaponry after Horunvendush Day. Even when you and I went to the Red Castle together she insisted that I be armed. I never thought of those things as anything other than precautionary. 

“Now I feel like I've woken up in a different world,” Casiphia said.

“It is a different world,” Ilosovic said. “Nothing will ever look quite the same to you again, and I'm very sorry for that. I was quite young—too young—the first time I killed someone, and I remember full well how much it shook me. And I wasn't discovering that the world I lived in wasn't the way I'd always known it to be.”

He gestured to her to join him on the bed, which she did.

“There may not be many people you know who will understand how you're feeling now. And to some degree, I do. I have an idea of what you may expect for a while. Your emotions are likely be volatile. You might lose your temper, or burst into tears or laughter, when you least expect to. And it's very possible you will have nightmares.”

“Hurray, something to look forward to,” Casiphia sighed. “I think I understand Tarrant Hightopp a little better now,” she added, plucking at the bedcovers anxiously. “Perhaps that is not entirely bad; perhaps now I can help make peace between the two of you.”

“Neither you nor I will ever be as gallymoggers as the Hatter, and that is something to be grateful for. Besides, that is not something you need concern yourself with now,” Ilosovic told her. “Your priority is taking care of yourself and regaining a sense of security and joy in the world around you.”

“The way you have?” Casiphia said, a challenge in her voice.

“Because I have not always succeeded is not a reason for you not to try,” he said.

“I know I go on about you and Tarrant,” Casiphia said. “Maybe I need to explain...he and I have never been particularly close, but we have always been friendly, and of course he and Mirana are great friends. I am tired of bad blood and I know how people are with their loyalties lately—I don't want to be caught in the center of something that could turn so ugly and I don't want to be even a part of a justification for it. After yesterday, that seems even more important to me.”

“I should think you would be angry with me for all the difficulties I've brought into your life, if not wanting me to leave it altogether,” Stayne said.

At this, Casiphia picked up a closed ivory-handled fan from her bedside table and rapped him smartly on the forehead with it.

“Ow,” he said. “I guess I deserved that.”

“You deserved that for thinking I would ever want you to leave me,” she said sourly. “If you want me to be angry with you for bringing your enemies into my life, you can expand it to cover that too.

“And now I'm over it.” She smiled sweetly.

“You are better than I deserve,” Ilosovic said.

“You are everything that I want,” Casiphia replied. “And remember, I grew up at court, I believe I should have everything I want.”

Ilosovic shook his head, smiling. “Come here,” he said, and took her into his arms for a gentle kiss.

“You were so quiet last night,” he said eventually. “That's what frightened the Queen and me the most.”

Casiphia cast about for the fan, which Ilosovic spotted first and tossed across the room. “I don't know why your father thought you needed a gun,” he said. “You can make a weapon out of damn near anything.”

“Remember that,” she said, and snuggled back into the bed in his arms, suddenly seeing on his right arm a bloody gash from the previous day, a deeper wound than she was comfortable looking at.

“You need to get that attended to.” 

“What's another scar?” Ilosovic said, indicating the fine white lines already crossing both his arms. “I had more important concerns.”

“If you don't take care of it, it could end up being far worse than a scar,” Casiphia said sternly. “Promise me you will have the physicians tend to that today.”

“Yes, milady, I will,” he said. “I have to admit, it's nice having someone to worry about me.”

“Yes, it is,” she said. “Maybe it's foolhardy, but I feel safe with you, whatever the reality of the world might be, and that is nice as well.”

“I will always be your knight,” he replied, holding her close.


	8. Revelations

_False face must hide what the false heart doth know.  
~William Shakespeare_

Casiphia spent the rest of the morning napping and making a token effort to eat something. Stayne finally convinced her to take a hot bath and get dressed in day clothes, though she was well on her way to falling asleep again, Ilosovic again keeping watch at her bedside, when a knock came at the door of her suite.

Ilosovic went to answer it, and Casiphia heard a whispered conversation between him and someone who sounded like Nivens McTwisp. Burying her head in her pillow, she hoped this didn't mean she was going to be required to do anything that day.

But her concern was warranted, and she knew that immediately when Stayne knelt down beside her bed and took one of her hands. “Dearest, we've been summoned to meet with Mirana.”

That wasn't entirely a surprise, Casiphia had to admit, and she dragged herself off the bed and arranged her hair into a marginally respectable condition before leaving to meet with the Queen.

Mirana was waiting for them in a small but comfortable sitting room, by a table set with tea and biscuits, which in itself made Casiphia nervous. Only if Mirana were trying to put them at ease would such efforts be necessary.

“Casiphia Rhoswen, Ilosovic Stayne, I'm sure you were expecting this meeting after the events of yesterday. But more than that, it's the possibility of attacks by enemies of any of us, including myself, that worries me.”

“Your Majesty, I'm sure you have no enemies,” Stayne interjected. “Surely all of your subjects adore and support you...”

Casiphia, annoyed, jabbed him with her elbow. “Don't be obsequious, dear, it's unbecoming.” 

“I thought I was being reassuring,” Stayne said, looking a little surprised. “I suppose I forget sometimes which queen I am speaking to.”

Mirana, meanwhile, was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile, and mouthed, “Thank you,” to Casiphia. 

A tentative knock then came at the door, and Mirana called to the newcomer to enter. Rosalba, lady-in-waiting and friend of Casiphia's, self-consciously entered the room, looking more troubled than the rest of them.

“Please be seated,” Mirana said, and Rosalba found her way to an overstuffed chair to do so.

“I wasn't sure which of you to bring this to first,” she said, looking worried, twisting a lock of white-blonde hair around one finger, “so I thought bringing us all together to tell you would be the right course of action.

“It's about Oran. We all know he's been, er, unfriendly about you and Ilosovic, Casiphia, but until now he hadn't done anything more than make up names for you.”

“Oh?” said Casiphia, curious.

“He's been calling you two Ruthless and Reckless,” Rosalba said, nonplussed when Casiphia gave an unladylike snort. 

“That's not bad for Oran,” she snickered. “I didn't know he had it in him.”

“You won't be laughing when you hear what else he did,” Rosalba frowned. “He was bragging in the dining hall last night and this morning both about going to visit your father, and after what happened yesterday, I have to wonder what that meeting might have been about.”

Casiphia looked grim. “You don't know all of it, either.” She told Rosalba about her father's contemptuous comments about Oran, and then hiked up her skirt to a scandalous height, revealing the even more scandalous sight of the Derringer tucked into a white leather holster buckled above her knee. “This was a gift from my father,” she said.

“Where did you get the holster from?” Ilosovic asked, distracted. 

“Nivens found it for me. I asked him this morning when he brought breakfast. I thought I'd feel better keeping Henrietta close.”

“You named the gun?” Ilosovic said.

“I feel we share a sort of intimacy now,” Casiphia said. 

Mirana broke into the conversation. “So it would seem that Oran may have set up the attack with enemies of Ilosovic, and then gone to your father, Casiphia, to solicit his help or at least his silence.”

“My papa must have been waiting till he met you to make up his mind what to do,” Casiphia said to Stayne, looking a little ill. “I suppose this meets you've passed muster with my family, at least. Henrietta wasn't to guard me against you specifically, but to protect me against the attack Oran mobilized, and maybe to help protect you too.

“I suppose it was easy enough for those people to spy on the house and know when we were leaving.

“And that means this was all my fault,” she said, dropping her head into her hands and squeezing her eyes shut. “It was my enemy who instigated this, not yours at all,” she said, turning to Ilosovic. 

Mirana reached over to put a hand on Casiphia's shoulder. “This is my point,” she said. “It seems we may all have enemies, and we need to be alert to the possibility of their presence at any time.”

“And some of them are completely unexpected,” Casiphia said. “I suppose I should have been more aware of this possibility, but after six years since a broken engagement...”

“You were right not to marry Oran,” Rosalba said, pulling the lock of hair, which she had progressed to chewing, from her mouth. “I guess you could tell there was something unsavory about him, even all those years ago.”

Casiphia shuddered and poured herself a cup of tea, which she downed in one swallow.

“You are a good judge of character,” Mirana said.

“Yes, I am, and maybe we can all remember that next time—I am so sorry,” Casiphia stopped, aghast. “I apologize for my temper. I know that was inappropriate.”

“Casiphia,” the queen said soothingly, “After the ordeal you've been through, a little temper is to be expected. Please be kind to yourself.”

Casiphia looked ruefully at the teacup handle she had just snapped off during her outburst.   
“Still,” she said.

“Rosalba, would you mind leaving me alone with these two so that I may ask them something?” the Queen said.

“Of course,” Rosalba said, rising from her chair and dropping a curtsey. To Casiphia, she said, “Would you like me to come see you later?”

“Please do,” Casiphia said, taking and squeezing Rosalba's hand.

Rosalba left the room, and Mirana turned to Casiphia and Ilosovic.

“I was wondering if it might be time to provide you two with your own quarters.”

Casiphia looked surprised, but Ilosovic's jaw quite literally dropped open. After a moment, Mirana put a gentle finger under his chin and said, “Close your mouth, dear, you'll catch bread-and-butterflies.

“It's something I've been considering anyway,” the Queen continued, “but now it occurs to me you would both be safer that way, and I would feel more at ease with that. If you like, you may have a guard detail until the political situation has calmed down.”

Casiphia and Ilosovic glanced at each other.

“Um...yes?” she said.

“Well, yes,” he said, and smiled.

“Your Majesty, we accept your offer,” Casiphia said, now smiling herself.

“Do you have any special requests?” Mirana said.

“A bathtub as nice as the one I have now?” Casiphia said hopefully.

“Of course, Casiphia, I knew that was something you would want. As well as a terrace where you can have some of those rose trees you like, the ones with the white and red petals.”

“And if it isn't too much to ask, a view into the distance?” Ilosovic added. “I can't help but feel safer that way.”

“Nothing you are requesting is unanticipated,” the Queen twinkled. “Come see the suite I am considering for you. I think you will be pleased.”

The new suite was indeed lovely, a floor above the one where both had been living previously, already half furnished and hung with rich tapestries. Both bathtub and view passed inspection easily, and Ilosovic and Casiphia were most pleased (if still a bit stunned) at this turn of events.

It would be at least a day before the new quarters would be ready, for which Casiphia was grateful. It had been a most eventful few months, filled with no end of surprises, and the chance to take time to adjust to one of those beforehand was something she intended to appreciate.

“I'm thrilled, I really am—but would you be terribly upset if I spent this night by myself?” she asked Ilosovic. “To have one last night in my old life and remember how things used to be and gather myself together a bit? I will call for you if I need anything, I promise.”

“That is a perfectly understandable request,” Ilosovic said. He walked her back down to her rooms, gave her a soft kiss, and left her to her contemplations.

*** * * * ***

Stayne lay awake that night until he was tired of turning his past and present over in his mind. Deciding fresh air could only help, he left his room and made his way quietly to the closest of the large balconies that gave out onto the wilds of Marmoreal.

The moon was not up and the stars shone only faintly, but the mist gathering in the air caught what light there was and tinted the marble of the castle silver. Also silvery was the figure of Casiphia, looking most pre-Raphaelite in a loose white gown and flat slippers, half-seated on the railing with one knee bent and one foot on the floor to keep herself balanced.

She looked up when she heard him approach, and gestured for him to join her.

“You couldn't sleep either,” he said, crossing to the balustrade and leaning against it.

“No,” she said. “I finally gave up torturing myself and decided to do something better with the time.”

“I understand—I've had my share of sleepless nights myself,” Ilosovic said. 

“Does anyone know these things about you?” Casiphia said, looking up at him.

“Besides you? I very much doubt it.”

“Even Brautigan?”

Stayne laughed. “Brautigan is not a horse one disturbs without reason. He and I are well-matched in many ways.”

“Not Iracebeth?”

That produced an impolite scoff. “I think I could have shown up for court missing the other eye and she wouldn't have noticed. I've never met anyone as self-absorbed as Iracebeth of Crims.”

Casiphia reached out for Ilosovic's hand. “I understand a bit of what you're saying. After The Scandal”—she said this with a tone of sonorous mockery—“I avoided others as much as I could so as to avoid their opinions on my actions. That turned into years of semi-isolation. It wasn't so bad, really.”

“No, it's not the worst thing in the world. One can learn to live with it,” he agreed. “But it's nice not to have to.” He squeezed her hand and she smiled at him.

“Rosalba seems to be a real friend,” he said.

“I know,” Casiphia said. “I wish I'd realized that sooner. I didn't know anyone here would be as sympathetic to me as she's been. Well, she and Mirana, of course.” 

“That still seems so curious to me,” Ilosovic said. “A sympathetic queen. I suppose it's something I could get used to.”

“I certainly hope so,” Casiphia said with a wink.

“Did you still want to be alone?” Ilosovic asked her. “I don't want to interfere.”

“Not just yet,” she said. “In a while. I'd like you to stay a bit longer, if you would.”

So he did, the two of them looking out into the mist, drinking in the tranquility of the night, letting the whisper of the waterfalls bring them a measure of peace. Day would come soon enough, with its attendant trials and worries. For now, the night was their own.


	9. Preparing for Battle

_For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings,  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.   
~William Shakespeare_

“I've always loved the Summer Fête,” Casiphia said with regret. “But this year my heart simply is not in it.”

“I would just as soon avoid it myself,” Stayne said. “But I do not believe Mirana would take kindly to that.”

“You'll like it, I'm sure,” Casiphia promised. “For the food and drink, if nothing else. And I have enjoyed the chance to get you into fancy dress.”

Ilosovic pretended to look aghast at this, but in fact he was looking forward to a chance to play the dandy. That would surprise a few folks, he thought with satisfaction. And a chance to squire a lady of the court about in public could be most entertaining. Casiphia, meanwhile, had been thinking the same thing—and was equally amused.

“At least you won't have to see Oran at the gathering,” Stayne said.

“I know, sent back to his family in Witzend in disgrace,” Casiphia said. “Yes, I most decidedly am glad of that. It's hard enough to put aside the memories of the trip back here without seeing the cause of the incident to remind me.” 

Ilosovic suddenly noticed the empty space over Casiphia's dressing table.

“Am I mistaken, or did we not have a looking glass here?”

“You were right about the chances of me losing my temper as a consequence of, er, the incident in the woods,” Casiphia said. “I was having trouble with my makeup and I threw my hairbrush at the mirror and broke it. No, it's all right,” she said hastily, seeing the look that had come over Stayne's face. “Nothing got through. But I sent it out to be pulverized as quickly as possible so that nothing would.

“It doesn't matter,” she continued ruefully. “All I could see were the circles under my eyes anyway.”

“You look splendid, my love,” Ilosovic reassured her, marking how her wide, low neckline revealed much of her shoulders, set off by only long earrings and the white ringlets of her court wig.

Ilosovic himself was garbed in black velvet trousers and tall boots, a white silk shirt with billowy sleeves, a black waistcoat with silvery flowers that Casiphia had somehow found time to embroider without him seeing beforehand, and a cravat that was cunningly made from the same light, silvery silk as Casiphia's gown. 

“And you look magnificent,” Casiphia said, starting to kiss him but pulling back when she realized her dark lipstick would not make the best complement to his attire. “Not that you aren't always beautiful, because you are. I'll get you in a tailcoat yet.”

“Hmph,” Ilosovic said, trying not particularly hard to conceal a smile.

“Would you be my mirror for a minute?” she asked. “Something's poking the back of my neck and I can't figure out what or where it is.”

Ilosovic turned her around to see. “It's a hairpin,” he said, tucking the offending item back into her curls and following that with a kiss on the nape of her neck that turned into a bite.

“Mmm,” Casiphia murmured, bowing her head in encouragement. Then suddenly she was being pinned against the wall and he was groping at her skirts.

“I think we could both use a little distraction, couldn't we?” he said.

“Not fair!” she cried. “Court dress leaves me practically helpless!”

“Mmm, helpless, I like the sound of that,” he murmured into her ear. He pressed against her body while he nipped at her neck, pulling gently at one of her dangling earrings with his teeth. 

“No crumpling! No inappropriate marks!” she managed to say.

“Nothing you can't take care of with a bit more powder,” he promised with a devilish grin.

The row of tiny pearl buttons down the front of her overdress provided little obstruction to him, and he undid several of them with his teeth. Nudging down the front of her bodice, he bit at one nipple, and then exposed the other, already erect and roseate from excitement and about to become more so. 

Casiphia gave a token struggle as Ilosovic gathered her skirts around her waist and unbuttoned his trousers with one hand, while holding her hands together and against the wall with the other. In a moment he was inside her, and Casiphia wrapped her legs around his waist tightly to both keep herself steady and to enhance the angle at which they fit. It was a fast and urgent coupling that left them both breathless, and Casiphia leaned enervated against the wall as she lowered her legs to the floor and he released her.

“This is bound to be a better day than the last few,” she breathed. “With a start like that.”

Ilosovic grinned, straightened Casiphia's snowy white wig, and shook out her skirts. “There, I think you look more or less presentable now. Powder over those marks and then let's go.”

She rushed to the mirror to see how marred her shoulders were, and was relieved to find that the pinkness there was indeed light enough to be camouflaged. 

“I should clean up a bit,” she said.

“Oh no, you're fine,” Stayne said.

“You are wicked,” Casiphia said, blushing just a bit. “Very well then. One more thing.”

With that, she took the white leather holster holding the little Derringer she had dubbed Henrietta, hiked up her voluminous skirts, and buckled it around her right thigh.

And then, much to Stayne's pleasure, she took from an alabaster box the raven pendant he had given her, the one he'd had as a child, and clasped it around her neck. 

“There,” she said. “Now I believe I'm ready to go.”


	10. What Better Time

  
_He is winding the watch of his wit; by and by it will strike._

_~William Shakespeare_

The black knight and the white lady walked out to the courtyard, where tall white urns of pale flowers had been arranged among an array of small round tables and their attendant chairs. Stayne looked about him to see who was present and whom he might recognize.

"Look, there are the Fat Boys," he said, sounding pleased.

"We don't call them the Fat Boys here, we call them the Tweedles," she whispered. "Tweedledum and Tweedledee."

"Hm? If you say so," he responded. "I always found them amusing, whatever name they might go by."

"Milady," came a small high voice.

"Mallymkun!" said Casiphia, dropping a curtsey as the dormouse, who was standing atop one of the small tables, made a courtly bow. "The reason the Bandersnatch now sometimes looks in two directions at once. We are honored at your presence."

"Might I have a word with you?" Mally said.

"Certainly," said Casiphia. "Ilosovic, would you be a dear and bring me a cup of tea?"

"At your service," he said, taking her hand and kissing it, then turning it over and planting another kiss on the inside of her wrist. They locked gazes with each other until Mally, impatient with the lovestruck pair, felt compelled to clear her throat as loudly as a dormouse is able. Stayne abruptly took his leave, and Casiphia turned her attention to Mallymkun.

"Well and good," Mally said curtly. "I want to talk to you about Stayne and the Hatter."

"By all means," said Casiphia, crouching down so as to speak to the mouse more easily, and quietly. "What are your thoughts on the matter?"

"Our illustrious hatter hasn't been the same since Alice left," Mally said. "That's something only the two of them can fix, I know that. But if we can make his life easier and more pleasant in the interim, then I want to do so. And I'm tired of this particular conflict making my own life less than delightful.

"They need to at least come to some agreement. I'm sick of Tarrant banging things around and glaring whenever he thinks of Ilosovic Stayne or his name comes up in conversation. We go through enough crockery as it is; we don't need him smashing any more teapots than are already being destroyed."

"I agree," Casiphia said. "And not just because I want a hat. Although I do. Tarrant spends too much time here at the castle for there to be that much animosity between them, not when they were once civil to each other."

"Do you know what the problem might be?" Mally asked. "I personally think they're too much alike."

"Oh, that's interesting," Casiphia said. "Yes, I can see what you mean. There's a certain level of intensity and loyalty in both that can't help but cause difficulties when they are on opposing sides."

"I believe 'loyal to a fault' is the expression you're looking for," the dormouse said. "Not to mention, Tarrant hates Stayne because Stayne brings out emotions in him that he doesn't want to accept. You know he nearly killed him on the battlefield, and I don't think he can forgive Stayne or himself for that."

"I have some personal understanding of that myself now, I'm afraid," Casiphia said. "It seems a stranger and more complicated world to me now than it did even a few days ago. "

"Which is another reason you are the person to bring this to," Mally said. "If we can just get them talking to each other again, maybe Time will take care of the rest."

"I'm willing to do what I can," Casiphia said. "Let me see if I can convince Ilosovic to talk to Tarrant while we're all here today."

Casiphia glanced about the gathering, located the table where Stayne sat with two cups of tea, and joined him there.

"I hear Tarrant is in attendance today," she said.

"Just when one thinks one might have an actual pleasant day at court," he sighed.

"Now, listen. You and he were friends once, right?"

"More like friendly acquaintances, but yes."

"And I know you were able to have a reasonably civil cup of tea together all the way up to Frabjous day."

Ilosovic set down his cup. "Dare I ask how you know that?"

"Rabbits. They gossip. I know one shouldn't encourage it, but they're so cute when they get excited and their noses twitch."

"I should watch my actions around the castle rabbits, then."

"They're probably still afraid of you—but yes. And do not answer the door without being fully clothed when they bring you tea. Trust me on that."

"Full disclosure, eh?" Stayne leered.

"Ah, innuendo. However would you converse without it?"

"How would I converse without it? My dear, you give as good as you get. While we're on the subject of innuendo."

Casiphia leaned in to say quietly, "Dearheart, you're doing a lovely job of changing the subject, but I think we should get back to it."

"Well, then, I believe we were discussing mutual dislike."

"That, and how to overcome such animosities and the problems they cause," Casiphia said. "Come, let us take a walk."


	11. Peace Conference

_A peace is of the nature of a conquest; for then both parties nobly are subdued,_  
and neither party loser.   
~William Shakespeare 

 

Casiphia put up her lace parasol, and together she and Stayne strolled the castle grounds, not oblivious to the looks of surprise and both approval and disapproval that they received, until they found the table where Tarrant Hightopp sat, facing away from them. Resplendent in a peacock-blue suit and coral-colored shirt, he leaned back elegantly in his chair with a teacup in one bandaged hand.

As they reached the table, Stayne lifted a hand as if to knock off Tarrant's hat, but Casiphia intercepted it with a hiss of, “Stop it! We're here to play nice.”

Casiphia saw to her relief that Mally was present as well, standing atop a salt cellar, gesturing with her hatpin, and engaging the Hatter in a conversation that had him chuckling. Thinking there was unlikely to be a more auspicious time than now for this tète-à-tète, Casiphia waved to the dormouse and called hello.

Tarrant turned around, smiling when he saw Casiphia, but his face falling dramatically when he saw Stayne. He deliberately turned and watched a group of courtiers playing croquet as the knight and the lady in waiting took seats at his table, pretending not to notice even as Casiphia poked his shoulder repeatedly.

“Woman, you are provoking me!” Tarrant shouted at last, glaring at Casiphia with eyes that were turning dangerously orange.

“Good, that was the intent!” she retorted. “Tarrant, hush. We all ought to talk. The three of us now are all in a circumstance that very few others here would understand—that of being pressed into actions our previous selves would have found unconscionable. And realizing that there are situations that can perhaps bring those tendencies out in anyone. We've been living under extreme circumstances, and we've all only done what we thought we must to protect ourselves and the persons and ideals we are loyal to.”

The Hatter said nothing, but leaned forward and rested his chin on his hand as if to encourage her to go on.

“I don't know how much you've heard of recent events,” Casiphia said, “But look.” She slid her chair back to give her room to pull up her skirt (“Madam!” the Hatter exclaimed in dismay as she did so, while Stayne snickered) and showed him the Derringer holstered to her thigh.

“I never in my life thought I'd be carrying a weapon like this,” she went on. “But I refuse to be unarmed when my life or the life of those I care about could be at risk. I do believe the three of us are the same in that regard.”

“She calls it Henrietta,” Stayne said as an aside to Tarrant. 

“And a lovely name it is,” the Hatter replied. “Although as you say, milady, I would not have expected her to be keeping company with you. I'm sure you are lovely companions, but I certainly would not want to be on your bad side now. Not that I wanted to be on your bad side before, mind you, even if you are keeping company with this scoundrel here.”

Cutting him off as politely as she could, “Tarrant, I believe you two were friendly once,” she said.

“They were, I was there,” Mally interjected at that prompting.

“And I will point out that at various times in the past you both have had the opportunity to wound or even kill the other. The fact that you have not tells me that there is at least a degree of respect between you. I don't ask that you be the closest of friends, because I try not to hope for impossible things, but respectful civility would be a great relief to everyone, I'm certain.”

“Shall we leave the two of you to talk?” Mally said.

“Casiphia, you and Henrietta might want to remain close by,” Ilosovic said dryly. “This discussion could turn most disagreeable at any moment. But yes, I believe the Hatter and I should confer.”

Casiphia put out a hand to Mally, who climbed her arm past the flounce on her sleeve to her silken shoulder, and the two of them wandered a few yards away in hopes of finding somewhere discreet from whence to eavesdrop, ending up behind a stand of tall lilies.

Unfortunately, the quieter words between Ilosovic and Tarrant were lost, and the louder ones at first were clearly unpleasant. But as the two conversed they gradually began to seem more relaxed, and finally Stayne got up from the table, clapped Tarrant on the shoulder, and went to find Casiphia and Mallymkun.

The two gave him an inquisitive glance, to which he responded by saying, “That wasn't the most enjoyable encounter I've had recently, but I will say it wasn't the worst.”

“That was surprisingly civil, from what we could tell,” Mally said. “I will admit now that I was more than a tad worried.”

“You do seem to have come to some accord,” Casiphia said. “How did you manage it?”

“I turned the conversation to the old days, before Iracebeth took the crown, and reminded him of some of the more cheerful memorable events of the past. I also made sure to mention Queen Mirana a few times, to bring home the fact that things have changed and we all want to unify Underland once again.”

“Nicely done,” Mally told him. “Frankly, I wasn't sure you had it in you. I'm glad to know that I was wrong about that.”

“You're not planning to entertain this mouse regularly, are you?” Stayne said, giving Mallymkun a peevish look.

Mally and Casiphia grinned at each other. Then turning to her consort, “I've always found you quite persuasive,” she said.

“This from the woman who convinced me to wear a white shirt to a public event,” he said.

“We must make quite a team, then,” she said.

“Quite a team indeed,” he said, nuzzling her cheek.

Mally said nothing, being too preoccupied with rolling her eyes to bother.

Seeing a page passing by from the corner of her eye, Casiphia suddenly broke away and waved at the boy.

“Will you please have a piece of cake sent to Iracebeth's quarters? Oh, bother, make that an entire cake.”

“What are you doing?” said Mally at the same time Ilosovic said, “What brings that on?”

“I'm tired of ill will and arguments,” Casiphia sighed. “I want to do something kind, something nice for someone who isn't expecting it.”

“White Court,” said Mally and Ilosovic in unison, then looking thoroughly discomfited with the fact that they had shared a thought.

“Ha,” said Casiphia, ducking her head to hide a small smile of triumph.

 

****

* * * * *

Not two days later, Casiphia and Ilosovic were returning to their quarters after teatime, musing about the riding they planned to do someday they could be more assured of their safety, when Casiphia spotted a hatbox sitting outside their door. She was unable to resist bouncing just a bit, knowing what this must be.

The hat was a marvel, a white mid-crowned riding hat wrapped about with a wisp of silvery spangled tulle and adorned with satin roses—one black rose in full bloom and three small crimson buds.

Casiphia immediately set the hat upon her head, twirled about, and struck a pose for Stayne. 

“You have your hat at last,” he said, pleased despite himself.

“I'd say this means you're forgiven. Or that I am, and that's a start,” she winked.


End file.
